Disclaimer: This is an amateur work meant in no way to infringe upon the rights of Amblin Entertainment or the Sci-Fi Channel. Lucas Wolenczak, Nathan Bridger, seaQuest, etc., are all the sole property of Amblin Entertainment and its cohorts in Hollywood. The Non-Allied Powers are my responsibility alone *sigh*> . . .
All musical lyrics belong to the fantastic work of Journey, one of my favorite bands. Most of it came from their most recent album, Trial by Fire. No disrespect (at all) is meant by inclusion into this work of fanfiction.
AUTHOR'S NOTE*: Rating: PG-13, rated as such because of some adult themes and language. This work is not meant for anyone under the age of 13--or for anyone who finds some discussion of sexual content uncomfortable. This is not explicit; however, the implications of eroticism exist.
Regarding Canon: This work is rather bizarre in its subject matter. It is certainly a product of my deranged mind! There are several instances of "canon violation" herein. The city "Crystannia" is also my own bizarre invention!
Consider this piece a lark, a digression, a distraction, etc. :) And a really, really, really strange one at that!
Okay, now that the boring stuff has been said, let the fun begin!
Prepare as you descend imagine Twilight Zone music eerily playing in the background . . .> into the Strange Zone . . . :)
Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn
Contentions
Part Two
Later that week, after a rather hearty celebration for the latest seaQuest scientific research funding coup--a celebration held shortly before Nathan personally sent Lucas off on his shore leave to Crystannia--Captain Nathan Bridger sat comfortably on his bunk. He was trying to read Hamlet, but the reading wasn't going all too well. Laughing, he just couldn't help thinking of how Lucas had "paraded" a few days ago--it'd been hilarious, if one knew he was doing it. Of course, the Big Wigs hadn't had any idea what Lucas had been up to; they'd had the proverbial wool pulled over their eyes so much that Nathan had seriously wondered if they were part sheep. As Lucas had bleated after seeing the Big Wigs off the ship . . . "B-aaa-hhhh."
Ah, that kid . . . Nathan thought, shaking his head with a smile.
His PAL suddenly hummed, and Nathan groaned. With a sigh, he hit its red button, asking, "Yes? Bridger here . . ." Sort of, he added mentally.
"Sir . . ." Tim O'Neill's voice reached over the PAL, sounding distressed. "Section Seven is on the vidlink for you . . ."
This brought Nathan sitting up straight. He swallowed, then, "Section Seven? Damn. Put them through, I guess, lieutenant--secured channel."
"Aye, sir." O'Neill's voice disappeared. The vidlink suddenly turned on, and there was Section Seven's insignia flashing across his screen. Bridger sighed, waiting for the transmission to begin. His stomach was in knots; he hated dealing with Section Seven. They made him feel somehow--dirty.
The insignia finally disappeared, to be replaced by a blond-haired, green eyed iceberg Bridger had encountered before: Lieutenant Reynolds. She would have been attractive--indeed, perhaps beautiful--if she had learned to smile; however, the art of smiling was lost upon her. She simply nodded as she saw him waiting. "Good evening, Captain Bridger. I understand congratulations are in order. You recently impressed several political movers to increase your scientific funding. Well done." Bridger stared at her, wondering how--how--she knew this. They'd only shipped their guests off the boat a few days earlier. She smiled slightly, icily. "I understand a great deal of the persuasive punch came from Mr. Wolenczak."
Curious where this was heading, he simply nodded. The last time Reynolds had called him, it'd been to warn him. He was wondering if this was the case now.
"It is Mr. Wolenczak I would like to speak about. It would seem that we know something about your young physicist that you, Mr. Bridger, do not," Reynolds began, obviously enjoying herself. "I understand you are close friends with the young man?"
Confused, Bridger silently nodded. What has Lucas gotten himself into this time? He wondered, concerned. Section Seven was serious business. And the teen was on shore leave by himself for the first time in . . . Bridger didn't know how long. Not a pleasant thought if Section Seven was . . . interested . . . in him.
"Mr. Wolenczak has a bit of a . . . well, shall we say a double life, captain." As she saw Bridger's eyes fly open, shocked at the implications of her words, she smiled. Though the reaction was unwarranted considering the circumstances, she loved to manipulate her language: to watch people squirm. After a moment of silence in which the captain was obviously thinking a host of dark possibilities, Reyonolds said almost offhandedly, "It is nothing as serious as it could be, of course. If it were, we would have caught him at an earlier date--had him arrested and interrogated. However, nothing of the sort has been necessary yet . . ." Reynolds let her voice drag unhappily, pouting.
Yet? Bridger stared at her, knowing a cat-and-mouse game when he saw one. He narrowed his eyes. "Would you be so kind as to get to your point, lieutenant--if there is one?" He finally demanded, now genuinely worried.
Reynolds shrugged, then showed him several CDs--music CDs, from the look of them. Bridger couldn't help but stare at her, amazed: music CDs? She was calling him to discuss music CDs? Ignoring his obvious disbelief, she then showed him the cover to one of them, magnifying the vidlink so he could clearly see it. After a second, she looked back at Bridger: "So, captain, tell me . . . what do you see here?"
The album cover pictured a ship--a pirate ship, from the look of it--on a broad expanse of black water. Large, nautical-styled letters spelled out the word Quest, followed by the words Quest for a Safe Sea Harbor written in smaller letters below the main title. As he studied the album curiously, Bridger finally shrugged. Though he found it strange that the album was titled Quest for a Safe Sea Harbor--a play on words that seemed to hint at his own submarine, the seaQuest--he didn't see anything to warrant a call from Section Seven. Reynolds then flipped the album cover over, again magnifying the vidlink. With a sigh, Bridger again studied the cover: this time several pictures, presumably of the group's members. He'd never seen any of them, though one image was so blurred he couldn't say for certain. After a moment, he looked back up. "What am I supposed to be looking for, Reynolds? I fail to see . . ."
"Ah--ah--ah . . ." she tapped her tongue, waving her finger at him. She then put a poster in front of the screen, unrolling it so he could clearly see. Again, he saw the word Quest written in bold letters, this time on a purple surface with a date and time right beneath it. Apparently, the group was playing at a concert in Crystannia this week--later tonight, actually. He then glanced at the picture of the group.
He stared.
And stared.
Oh, hell. No wonder there'd been a pun on the word Quest . . . Blinking his eyes, hoping the image would dissolve with each blink, Nathan at last forced himself to examine that picture once more. Oh, bloody hell. The group members he'd seen clearly pictured on the album cover were laughingly gathered in a semi-circle, arms clasped around each other's waists.
But in the middle . . . he could now clearly see the one member of the group whose image had been blurred on the album cover, and seeing that person here, sitting in the middle of a group of people that called itself "Quest" . . . Nathan was stunned. The group surrounded this one member, their elbows and chins resting against his shoulders, his head. The young man in the center was grinning profusely, eyes sparkling as he looked at the camera.
Nathan glanced down at the names printed below this picture. Jerry Rodriquez, Larry Cole, Chienna Turneau, Benyelle Bridget, John Morginson, and . . . "Young One." Young One.
Again, he looked at the picture. There could be no doubt. That was Lucas.
Oh, hell, he thought, staring at Reynolds. After a moment, he forced himself to ask, "How--how long? Do you know?"
Of course she knew, he thought as he saw her smile. She simply replied, "Several years, it would seem. At least two-and-a-half, for that is when 'Young One' first started being listed on the credits. Probably before that, though: you understand, training together, that sort of thing. I thought you might like to know that your computer genius is part of one of the largest music sensations to hit the East Coast in years."
Though he was ready to strangle Lucas for this one (how could he have forgotten to mention this one little detail . . . that he was part of a music group?) Nathan glared across the vidlink at Reynolds. "Excuse me, lieutenant," he started, fairly growling, "but can you tell me why on earth Section Seven is interested in a rock group? This seems a bit ridiculous, even for your people."
She ignored his tone. "Captain, it is our responsibility to know the actions of the largest submarine in the world's crew; we have files on all of your crewmembers. That would include computer scientists involved in rock groups. Involved . . . now there is an excellent word, Captain Bridger . . ."
Puzzled, he stared at her. Involved? Finally, as she just stared back in amusement, he forced himself to play her game by asking, "How so, lieutenant?"
"It would seem that your Lucas Wolenczak is seriously involved with one of the group's members. With a Chienna Turneau." At Bridger's look of surprise, Reynolds positively grinned. "A very interesting fact, too, captain . . . the two of them just spoke days ago. Right before your visit from the politically elite. It would seem that Mr. Wolenczak is dating Ms. Turneau." She paused, then added, "You may wish to check into this, captain. If I am correct, Lucas Wolenczak is fifteen. Chienna Turneau will turn thirty in less than a month. There seems to be an age discrepancy here, one that could lead to trouble, if you take my drift."
Lucas was dating a twenty-nine year-old? Nathan wondered in amazement. He was going to have to have a serious talk with that boy. A very serious talk, indeed. However, he failed to see any "trouble" in this . . . excepting the obvious grounding Lucas was going to get the moment he stepped foot again on the submarine. In annoyance, he asked, "Lieutenant, I don't see anything that warrants your concern here. Either tell me directly what it is you wish to say, or quit wasting my time."
As if she were talking to the densest individual alive, Reynolds rolled her eyes. She sighed. "Very well. Mr. Wolenczak is under age, captain. She is more than twice his age. If anything goes too far, this amounts to statutory rape. We are fairly certain this is not the case yet, but we also know that Ms. Turneau has booked a hotel suite tonight for herself and 'Y.O.' This is probably 'Young One' . . . a young man also known as Lucas Wolenczak. I would be concerned if I were you, captain. Statutory rape is not taken lightly. And I would suggest you take care of this instead of us."
Nathan blinked; she was warning him, without doubt. But what possible interest could Section Seven have in this? Finally, he asked, "How do you even know . . . that they'll be alone? It's probably a post-concert party."
"No. They always hold their parties in the concert hall, directly after the concert." She paused, then added, eyebrows raising archly, "Turneau has ordered champagne, glasses for two, and incense. It does not take much imagination to see that this is not a group party. I would speculate that she plans on having her way with . . ."
"I understand exactly what you're saying, lieutenant," Bridger interrupted angrily, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do about this. Lucas was a minor, but he was also a member of his crew; Nathan certainly didn't barge in on his crewmembers when they were on shore leave . . . and for very good reason. Usually, shore leave consisted of just this sort of thing: a hotel room and a beautiful woman. But, then, Lucas was fifteen; the lieutenant was right. This would be statutory rape. "I'll handle the problem. What time is the concert? What hotel is she booked at?"
The lieutenant quickly gave him the information, looking at him carefully. As he disconnected the link, Nathan could only shake his head. God. This was worse than . . . anything. Worse than facing an entire legion of terrorists. What on earth was he supposed to tell Lucas? Sorry for barging in on you like this, Lucas, but you'll need to get home now. (Pause.) You might want to put some clothes on, too.
He groaned, shaking his head. Just what he needed: a case of overcooked hormones and Section Seven, all rolled into one messy situation. He only prayed, damn it, he only prayed that he got to Lucas before . . . well, before this Turneau lady did . . . well, before anything . . . happened. He didn't want Section Seven in on this: absolutely not.
This whole thing made him uncomfortable. Damn it, he didn't like to connect the word rape with Lucas at all; the two words didn't belong in the same sentence. Lucas was a smart kid. He wouldn't allow someone to force him into something he didn't want. But, legally, he knew it would be rape if Turneau took Lucas to bed with her. But this . . . was it the same thing?
Ah, hell. What fifteen year-old hadn't wanted to go to bed with an older lady? He knew he certainly had.
Again, Nathan groaned. He was going to need some help on this one. He supposed Ben and Miguel would be the best choices . . . Ben was like an older brother to Lucas, and Miguel was a good friend of his. Perhaps he should ask Kristin Westphalen to tag along, too, just in case they needed a calm, reasoning voice. Yeah, that should do it.
Several minutes later, Ben, Miguel, and Kristin all stood in front of him, various expressions ranging from amusement to shock on their faces. Well . . . Kristin actually seemed the only one amused by this little dilemma. Ben was furious that Nathan had suggested any . . . err, any interference at all, saying Lucas was a "normal boy" and, quite normally, wanted to "explore" a bit of unknown territory. Silently, Nathan had to agree; he saw Ben's point quite well. Miguel had simply added that, well, Lucas had an inquisitive mind: it shouldn't surprise anybody that it inquired into areas having absolutely nothing to do with science. Again, Nathan couldn't help but agree inwardly, but he had a problem on his hands: Section Seven knew of this, and they sure as hell would become involved if Nathan and his crew didn't stop it themselves.
Kristin's only question was, "Why on earth is Section Seven interested in this, anyway? Trying to stop statutory rape isn't exactly down their line of expertise."
Nathan could only shake his head, having no explanation because he had been offered none. They simply were . . . interested. From Reynolds' hints, it seemed that they were interested in getting their hands on Lucas. Maybe it was because of Lucas's crucial position on the seaQuest, maybe it was because they'd place Nathan and crew in a difficult position: who knew? He sure as hell didn't. But what he did know, without a doubt, was that they had to do something about this before Section Seven did. For there was one darker possibility for Section Seven' sudden interest in this situation, a possibility that sent chills through Nathan's spine: if they caught Chienna in the act of what would be considered statutory rape, they could grab both participants for questioning. They could, thus, interrogate Lucas on certain the teen's various computer and scientific theories without supervision or recourse. Nathan would have no way of getting him back, for Lucas would then be in Section Seven hands--in Section Seven security.
So, with a sigh, the group changed clothing and collected what little they needed for this night's "mission," then rejoined one another at the launch bay.
Sitting in the shuttle as Ben and Miguel piloted, Nathan shook his head. This was insane. This was crazy. And it was frightening.
As Lucas would have said, it sucked beyond redemption.
*****
"Holy shit," Ben muttered as they entered the auditorium. They were now in Crystannia, staring at the huge crowd milling around them. And huge was a good word for this crowd; Nathan would have to estimate that somewhere between eight and nine thousand people were here. Each of them, every soul here, was waiting for Quest. Ben added, still staring, "Holy fucking banshees."
Nathan glared at his lieutenant, but didn't feel overly energetic in responding. Holy shit covered the situation pretty damned well, as did holy fucking banshees. Somehow, Lucas, their young genius of a friend, was a member of the group this crowd was gathered to see. And the tickets weren't cheap, either. Oh, no, they were anything but cheap. Nathan hadn't paid this many credits for a ticket to a concert in ages. What was more, they were almost sold out. Nathan and crew had had to fight to get the extremely expensive tickets they had. The group was more than merely popular; they were a raging gusto of force. And Lucas was part of this?
As they found their seats--elbows jostling into their ribs, eager fans screaming and shouting for Quest--Nathan and company looked around themselves at the crowd. The age averaged at around twenty, perhaps up to around twenty-five, though there were quite a few teenagers, too. Those were the ones screaming at the top of their lungs, many of them shouting for "Young One." It took Nathan a shocked moment to realize that they were shouting for Lucas--Lucas, his scientist, his friend.
Definitely . . . they were going to have to have a talk about this.
"Who is 'Young One'?" Kristin asked softly, leaning towards Nathan. At Nathan's look, she blinked quickly, then cleared her throat. "You don't mean . . . " After a second, she whistled. "I think Lucas and I are going to have a little talk."
Nathan snorted. "Get in line first." He tapped his fingers against the seat in front of him, somehow nervous: of what, he didn't know. He wondered what "Young One"--Lucas--did in Quest. Was he a guitarist? A pianist? Actually, he couldn't even begin to imagine. He'd never seen Lucas play a guitar or a piano. Lucas had never even seemed musically inclined. Perhaps he somehow mixed the music via his computer. That at least made some sort of sense.
As these thoughts were tumbling through his brain, Nathan noticed the lights begin to dim. Suddenly, the crowd was silent, hushed: expectant, a lover awaiting the tender caresses of . . .
With an inward groan, Nathan quickly stopped that analogy. God knew he might have to worry about tender caresses and lovers later . . .
Darkness now descended upon the auditorium; only a few blue lights twinkled down the aisles.
And then . . . the music began. It was a haunting combination of guitar and piano, beautifully mixed. If Lucas was somehow doing the mixing, Nathan had to congratulate him on it. And then the main voice began.
Hell, they had a real singer for their lead vocalist. Nathan was impressed. Whoever was doing the singing could really, truly sing, unlike most of the voices in the rock bands he'd heard recently. As the voice soared through the air, Nathan found himself almost awed by that voice. It was truly beautiful.
Lights began to flicker upstage, highlighting the musicians as they played. Nathan squinted down at the stage. No, he still didn't see Lucas. Did he work behind the scenes? Though it was possible, he'd certainly find that surprising, given the screams he kept hearing for "Young One." Shocked, Nathan stared in horror as several teenagers screamed, "I want you, Young One!" Did Lucas know about this?
The voice, again, was soaring, reaching new notes, gaining momentum. Hell, he's got an extraordinary voice, Nathan thought, wondering once more who was singing. As the momentum increased, as the voice gathered in scope and depth, a light began flickering downstage . . . towards the only portion of the stage left in darkness, where Nathan presumed the main singer was standing. A slim figure became increasingly apparent as the lights magnified.
If Nathan had been drinking anything, he would have choked. If Kristin, Ben, or Miguel had even been sipping at water, they would have sputtered uncontrollably.
They knew that slim figure. Oh, only too well did they know it.
As one, the lead vocalist and accompanying instrumentals broke into the heart of their song, the beat increasing, the solitary voice holding an unusually high, difficult note for seven or eight seconds. The words swung out through the audience: "I will love you eternally." And then the light completely shone on the main singer, his face seen clearly on a huge viewing screen as he sang.
It no longer could be denied. Those blue eyes, that shaggy golden hair, that porcelain-like skin . . . it was Lucas. Dressed casually in a royal blue silk shirt and black jeans, he wasn't at all the picture Nathan had formed of most rock singers: tight leather pants, long hair, make-up, whatever shocked the audience. He was neatly groomed (an unusual occurrence for him) but he didn't have any of the flagrant habits lead vocalists usually tried for. As he continued to sing, Nathan was impressed by the simplicity of Lucas's style. He didn't jump around the stage, he didn't holler and moan, he didn't bang a guitar every five seconds. He moved around the stage very gracefully; he used his hands in simple gestures that were profoundly expressive of his meaning. And the crowd . . .
Nathan glanced around himself, looking carefully at Lucas's audience. They loved him. They followed Lucas's every movement with their eyes, with their heads, joining in the music when Lucas invited them to. And Lucas was generous with the spotlight; it didn't remain entirely on him. In fact, it seemed programmed to hit the group at least twice as often as himself.
But Lord . . . his voice. His voice! Nathan had never heard anything like it. Its range was phenomenal, moving from low to high notes in seconds, holding notes for longer periods of time than any singer he'd heard. As the first three songs sailed along, Nathan could only shake his head in disbelief, looking at his companions at the same time. This was Lucas! Their Lucas! This was their computer geek, their mischievous young genius. This was their young crewmate who hadn't mentioned one little word about singing. And not only was he singing these songs, but, according to the script flashing across the viewscreen, he was also writing the lyrics!
As the concert continued, Nathan found himself shaking his head more and more. He just couldn't believe Lucas had kept such a secret from him. He knew everyone wanted to keep a few secrets to themselves, but this--this was something incredible. And Lucas had kept this from him. Why?
Six songs later, Quest stopped for a ten minute intermission. As Lucas walked off the stage, obviously quite eager to be out of the spotlight, Nathan saw the teen gulping down a large glass of water, then frowning as one of his fellow Quest members pulled the glass from him and, evidently quite scoldingly, read him what looked like the riot act. Well, he had to admit it was nice seeing the kid get his ear chewed out for whatever it was. Nathan was certainly dying to do a little ear-chewing himself. As the lecturer pressed against Lucas, though, Nathan's sudden smile slipped away. So . . . this was the notorious Chienna Turneau. He watched the beautiful brunette kiss Lucas's neck, then reach over and tickle the young man around the ribs. Lucas laughed, whispering something into Chienna's ear. She grinned wickedly, whispering back at Lucas until the teen blushed flaming red.
Nathan glanced at the rest of his crew, and saw that they, too, were watching the scene. Kristin's eyebrows were perked with astonishment. Ben and Miguel looked like they wouldn't mind being in Lucas's shoes right then and there. He sighed. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd been hoping it would be. Chienna was beautiful. Lucas was obviously quite attached to her. And even getting to either of them, in this crowd, could be almost impossible.
Ah, hell, he thought. This sucks.
Suddenly, he shook his head, realizing that he was using Lucas's favorite phrase.
*****
Intermission over, Quest returned to the stage in . . . well, Nathan's eyebrows did quirk at this: pirate outfits. The crowd went wild as their band returned to the stage, each wearing a white pirate shirt loosely buttoned up the front and tight tan trousers set off with royal blue sashes. Lucas came onto stage blushing from ear to ear, casting a mock glare at Chienna's mischievously grinning face. She told the audience, "Well, the pirate wear was my idea, and Young One is still threatening to make me walk the plank for it. He did, however, draw the line at swinging in here on ropes or vines . . . said he'd probably swing right into the window."
After a few moments of dialogue, the band started off on their next song. It caught Nathan's attention right off, for . . . damn, it sure as hell sounded like Lucas was talking about his father's abuse. He glanced at Kristin and Ben, and they nodded slightly. Miguel didn't seem at all troubled by it, for he was humming away. But, then, Miguel didn't know everything about Lucas's father.
After that, Nathan's attention remained quite riveted. The next song was so loaded with sexual innuendo that Nathan found himself glancing at Kristin, and not entirely professionally. The longing he heard in this song--it was stated so simply, but it made his blood race. He swallowed hard, seeing that the lyrics had been written by Lucas himself. Where had Lucas learned to write like that? It wasn't as if he were saying anything obvious, nothing like "we spent the night together" or "I want you in every way," but the message was there anyway, just as clearly as if he had written those lines instead. Nathan didn't understand this at all. Lucas was fifteen. Fifteen year-olds weren't supposed to write songs like that.
But then, fifteen year-olds weren't supposed to invent the world's first vocorder. Fifteen year olds weren't supposed to understand computer science and advanced physics. Fifteen year-olds weren't supposed to be able to blow up a boat like the Ulysses.
Next came another Lucas-penned song, this one about cheating and betrayal. Nathan again shook his head: where were songs coming from? What part of Lucas knew about cheating and betrayal? Didn't you need to experience these things--passion, love, cheating, betrayal--before you could write about them? Or was Lucas just so good at imagining what these things would feel like that he could create believable songs about them?
Again, Nathan planned to have a long, hard talk with that boy. And soon.
Ten minutes later, Nathan almost choked during the song as the screen cleared to be replaced by what looked like a music-video. He watched in amazement as Lucas played a devil dressed entirely in black, a seductive little devil bent on tempting every beautiful woman in sight. In this clip, Lucas was downright sultry. Though Ben and Miguel seemed to love the clip, Nathan looked at Kristin and saw the wide-eyed stare on her face. Well, at least he wasn't the only one shocked by Lucas-the-Innocent suddenly mutated into Lucas-the-Devil. The Lucas-Devil nuzzled against several beautiful women's throats, kissing them quite erotically, pulling their hair back with gentle, blood-tingling caresses. Oh, Lord . . . this was Lucas? Nathan couldn't believe what he was seeing. He wanted his innocent Lucas back. He wanted this other Lucas, this sultry devil of a Lucas, gone.
As the night continued on, Nathan was torn between real admiration for what Lucas and Quest were doing . . . and between sheer disbelief at the fact that Lucas had managed to hide this from them. Songs about hunger, appetite, and love gone awry strummed at his veins, most of them penned by none other than Lucas himself; it made him wonder. Sometimes, Nathan simply didn't know how to take the songs. He'd listen to the words, each word somehow laced with sexual hints, with sexual innuendo. And then he'd look at Lucas's face, at the gentleness in his eyes, the gentleness in his expression. The two images simply didn't fit. Could it be that Lucas didn't realize the peculiar power for innuendo, for subtle suggestion, his songs contained? Could it be that Lucas was entirely ignorant of the effect his songs had? As he looked at Kristin and his comrades, he saw the same questions reflected in their eyes.
The last song was finally reached, a song of beauty, speaking of shared cultures and shared identities, of shared lives, of friendship. Nathan simply stared at his young crewmember as he sang this song; nothing should have surprised him about Lucas now, but the teen's voice absolutely defied description in this song. As the song was performed, a new music-video played on the screen. This one actually made Nathan smile, for it seemed the type of video that Lucas would put together (unlike certain Devil videos). It was a collage of the group's past, showing first their group before Lucas had arrived on the scene, then afterwards. Nathan couldn't help noticing how the group seemed so much more well-knitted with Lucas. They seemed happier, closer, more inclined to smile or laugh. He noticed they also seemed very protective of Lucas, circling around him most of the time, arms linked with his.
Several of the pictures, though, made Nathan's eyebrows rise. In them, Lucas couldn't have been older than eleven, if even. He looked so damnably--young. And there could be no doubt: Lucas had been a part of this group well before he'd joined seaQuest. This was made all the clearer by one small picture of Lucas hanging upside down, looking at a book and making a face at Chienna; though it wasn't obvious, there was gauze wrapped around his throat. That would have placed this picture at the time of his tracheotomy.
Then the screen went dark, and the group--as one--wished their audience a wonderful night and safe trip home. With that, the show was over.
And as Nathan and company tried reorienting themselves, they saw Chienna and Lucas dashing for the door, both of them laughing outrageously, arms linked together, obviously in their own world of happiness. Ben spotted them, then hollered, "Lucas! Lucas! We need to talk to you!"
But Lucas was already out the door, several security guards closing around him. There was no way he could have heard Ben over the shouting fans and general hysteria following the concert. As Ben and Nathan started running after him, they saw the two climbing into a limousine and disappearing from sight.
"Oh, just great," Nathan snapped, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He turned to Ben. "Get the car. This could get touchy."
With a quick nod, Ben ran for the car, waving Miguel and Kristin over to Nathan as they finally cleared through the crowd. Ben waved his UEO top security ID at several guards and fans, praising his lucky stars that the idiots moved out of his way. After fifteen minutes of searching for their car, Ben jumped right in and zoomed to the auditorium entrance, again waving his ID when anyone got in his way. Brakes screeched to a halt as he waited for his companions to climb in, then the car went zooming towards the Crystannia Ambassadorial Hotel.
"Come on," Ben whispered anxiously, eyeing the traffic with increasing concern. "Come on, idiots . . . out of my way."
Watching Ben weave in and out of traffic, Nathan groaned. This wasn't looking good.